


A Stitch in Time

by silentrevyrie



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 12:41:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29385006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentrevyrie/pseuds/silentrevyrie
Summary: Andy has a wardrobe malfunction at a gala.**inspired by Helen Mirren’s story about Meryl Streep sewing her back into her dress at the Golden Globes.
Relationships: Miranda Priestly/Andrea Sachs
Comments: 11
Kudos: 307





	A Stitch in Time

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this inside 45 minutes. Just a bit of fun!

“MotherFUCKER,” Andy Sachs muttered to herself as she fumbled with the fabric of her dress. Rent the Runway had always been good to her, until the moment that the side seam of her rented KaufmanFranco gown had split open in the middle of the FIT Gala. The issue was compounded, Andy realized, by the fact that the dress was one-shouldered, and the failing seam was the only structure on the shoulder-less side. 

“I wasn’t even supposed to be here,” Andy moaned to no one, since she was thankfully alone in the bathroom. “It’s not even my column. I write about politics, for god’s sake. One assistant job five years ago doesn’t qualify me to pinch hit for the style section.” She lifted her arm and surveyed the damage in the mirror above the sinks, and was chagrined to find that the more she moved, the more the seam seemed to unravel. What had started as a small opening up by the top of the dress had quickly spread to just past her waist. “Fuck.” 

“Pardon?” came the reply from a cool, even voice that made Andy’s hair stand on end. She knew that voice, and she froze, willing it to belong to anyone but who she suspected. 

“Miranda,” Andy acknowledged, blushing crimson. She glanced at the mirror and saw Miranda appraising her in the reflection. She held tighter to her traitorous dress. “I would offer to leave, but, uh, you’re just going to have to deal.” 

Miranda rolled her eyes. “Do what you must,” she drawled, pulling out her phone. She tapped at the screen and huffed impatiently, waiting for a call to connect. “Fifteen minutes,” she snapped, and then pulled the phone away from her ear and jabbed at the screen. She looked back up at Andy. 

“My dress,” Andy sighed, turning to show Miranda the split seam before she could think better of it. 

“Indeed,” Miranda replied, seemingly appraising the situation. Her gaze moved, and Andy followed it to the basket on the counter of toiletries and other items, left for gala guests’ convenience by the organizers. Andy stood, her grip on the dress tightening as she watched Miranda move towards the basket. She shifted her weight from foot to foot as Miranda started to rifle through it. 

After what felt like at eternity, Miranda turned back to face Andy, and she was holding what looked to be a sewing kit. Andy thought she might be hallucinating. 

“Oh, okay. Amazing. I can just go into a stall and take this off and then I can fix—“ 

“Nonsense,” Miranda interrupted. “This will be faster.” 

Now Andy was sure she was hallucinating, because before she could even fully register what was happening, Miranda had unspooled a length of thread, expertly threaded it through the needle, and tied the end of the new thread to the broken thread still attached to Andy’s dress. “You’ll need to hold it like this,” Miranda continued, pulling the two sides of the seam tightly together, and brushing against Andy’s bare side in the process. Andy jumped involuntarily at the contact, and Miranda glared. 

“None of that,” she hissed, “stay still or I’ll prick you.” 

“Is that a threat, or...?” Andy trailed off, taking the fabric back from Miranda and holding it in position. “Stay still, got it.” 

“You’ve got to—“ Miranda cut herself off, choosing instead to reposition one of Andy’s arms herself. The goosebumps on Andy’s skin were immediate, and she felt herself blush. When she glanced down at Miranda, she could have sworn she saw a similar flush across her former boss’s cleavage, which was displayed beautifully by her dress—a peacock teal sheath that was nothing like what Andy had ever seen her wear before. Andy quickly looked away, willing herself to think about literally anything but how attractive she had just realized the silver-haired woman was. 

Miranda worked quickly, using a simple whip stitch to repair the seam enough for Andy to no longer be exposed. She stopped a few inches short of the top of the dress and stepped back. 

“You’re not wearing a bra,’ she stated, staring at Andy.

“N—no,” Andy stuttered, “the only strapless I own came up too high in the back, and I didn’t think I needed one with how tight this was anyway.” 

“Yes, well, when it stopped being tight...” Miranda bit her lip, and it took everything Andy had not to moan in response. She realized Miranda was staring at her chest, and looked down to see that she needed to adjust herself before the seam was finished. 

“Oh, I’ll just—“ Andy started as she went to let go of the side of the dress. 

“No,” Miranda interrupted her, “you can’t let go or it will open again.” And with that, she reached down the front of Andy’s dress, sliding her hand under Andy’s breast and lifting it back into place. This time, Andy did moan, and involuntarily arched her back, forcing her breast into Miranda’s hand. Miranda froze, and Andy noted that she no longer heard the other woman breathing. Andy worked to keep her own breathing even as she straightened her back. This seemed to snap Miranda back into action, as she quickly removed her hand from inside Andy’s dress and grabbed for the needle again. 

Neither woman spoke as Miranda quickly sewed up the remaining seam. She wrapped the remaining thread around two fingers and quickly snapped it, tucking it into the dress for lack of a better finish. 

“Thanks,” Andy smiled, pretending she wasn’t blushing crimson. She grabbed Miranda’s hand before she could talk herself out of it. “Really, Miranda. I have no idea what I would’ve done if you hadn’t shown up.” 

“Yes, well,” Miranda demurred, not taking her hand out of Andy’s grasp. Andy bit her lip again as she noted the blush high on Miranda’s cheekbones. The loaded silence was interrupted by the ping of an incoming text message to Miranda’s phone. 

“My driver,” she rasped, never breaking eye contact. 

“Oh, of course,” Andy replied, dropping Miranda’s hand reluctantly. “It was—thank you again, Miranda. It was lovely to see you.” Miranda cleared her throat as she nodded and walked towards the door. Andy busied herself with pretending to adjust her hair in the mirror as she heard the sound of the door opening. 

“Andrea?” came Miranda’s voice. Andy turned around to see Miranda standing in the doorway, her eyes dark and her cheeks even more flushedthan they’d been a moment before. “Come along.” 

A thrill of arousal ran down Andy’s spine and she had to remind herself to walk, instead of sprinting across the bathroom. “Of course, Miranda.” 

Thank god for a faulty rental dress. 


End file.
